Four Gold Florins
by bloodsoakedleather
Summary: Jacopo wondered if this was nothing more to Leo than another one of his experiments, his curiosities. If he came directly from Her bed to his while the memory was still fresh simply so that he could catalogue the differences. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, preferring to think that he came from Her bed to his because She couldn't satify him the way Jacopo could.


**A/N:** I do not own Davinci's Demons. This is just for fun.

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Jacopo looked over at the man in his doorway and smiled. His hair was damp and sticking up in all directions, his shirt was wrinkled and not quite properly tucked in and his boots were unlaced.

"And here you are again." He said.

The man was silent for a moment, then he cocked his head slightly to one side and opened his arms just a little way, placing his hands palms up.

"Here I am again."

Another moment of silence followed then the man was striding towards the bed, Jacopo's bed, kicking off his boots and tugging his shirt over his head as he moved.

It was always this way, always his bed, never the maestro's. If he was honest, Jacopo preferred it this way, it meant he could hold on to the memory for a little longer once Leo was gone and he was left alone once again. That didn't mean it didn't hurt though, just a bit.

Jacopo threw back the sheet that covered him and threw open his own arms, welcoming the other man into his bed even as a little voice in the back of his head pleaded with him to turn him away. He'll only end up hurting you the voice said, but Jacopo didn't need the voice to tell him that. He already knew, and he didn't care.

The maestro was on top of him in an instant, pressing him into the mattress, fingertips skimming over the skin of his shoulders and arms with a delicate precision in direct contrast to the rough and demanding grind of his hips.

Jacopo gasped when the other man's hard length slid against his own, separated only by the flimsy fabric of Leo's loose pants. He needed to get rid of those pants, needed to feel the man himself, in the flesh and when he slid his hand between them and begin pulling at the ties, Leo lifted his hips and his torso to better aid his task.

Hovering above, his weight distributed evenly between his hands and knees Leo stared fixedly at the man beneath him, pupils blown wide from passion and a need so raw that it served to make Leo's own need that much greater.

"Fuck." He muttered beneath his breath as Jacopo finally freed the ties, shoved his pants over his arse and wrapped his talented fingers around his now naked cock. "Fuck fuck fuck."

Slowly, not wanting to rush this, not wanting this to be over too soon, he rolled his hips, pushing his cock further into Jacopo's fisted hand. He moaned softly and dropped his head, burying his face in the curve of his neck and nuzzling gently.

The scent of roses filled Jacopo's nostrils as he drew in a deep, shuddering breath. Oh how he hated that scent and everything it meant. He hated it with a passion and he had to fight to keep the emotions from spilling out of him because all Leo wanted from him right now was his body and he knew it. All the same he couldn't stop himself from asking…

"You've been with Her again, haven't you?"

Leo didn't deny it.

"That." He said pointedly, mapping the path of the other man's collar bone with a series of licks and bites then trailing kisses down the centre of his chest. "Is none of your business."

"It is when you come to my bed smelling of Her." Not for the first time, Jacopo wondered if this was nothing more to Leo than another one of his experiments, his curiosities. If he came directly from Her bed to his while the memory was still fresh in his mind simply so that he could catalogue the differences between fucking a woman and fucking a man. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind, preferring to think instead, that he came from Her bed to his because She could not satisfy him the way Jacopo could.

"Jacopo." Leo whispered against his skin, kisses trailing lower now, across his stomach and hips as he settled himself between his thighs. "Jacopo, Jacopo. Isn't it enough?" He asked, a puff of hot breath against the side of his aching length, promising a pleasure Jacopo knew from experience could make a man lose all sense. "That I come to your bed at all?"

For a moment Jacopo wanted to scream and sob and tell him that no it wasn't enough, that he wanted to be more to him than an experiment or a curiosity to be satisfied because he loved him, with all his heart and always would and even if Leo couldn't love him back he wanted to know that on some level at least, the man did care. But he held his tongue, like he always did, and when the maestro's mouth made good on it's promise of pleasure, Jacopo found that the only word he could even form now was a desperate, rasping,

"Yes."

And later, after teasing and tormenting for God only knew how long with his lips and tongue and fingers until he was nothing but a writhing, panting mess, when Leo lifted Jacopo's legs to rest over his shoulder, parted his cheeks and pushed his cock deep inside him with one long, slow stroke, Jacopo lost the power of speech completely.

* * *

Leo left before dawn, just as he always did.

And just as he always did Jacopo lay still and silent and feigned sleep while he dressed, unwilling and unable to bear the sight of the one he loved so desperately walking away from him again.

A dip in the mattress and a soft grunting sound told Jacopo that the other man was pulling on his boots. After a moment he felt soft warm lips pressed against his forehead and a gentle voice whispered,

"You were… incredible last night. Thank you."

It wasn't the first time Jacopo had heard such murmured sweet nothings from the maestro's lips in the early hours but he never opened his eyes, he never let Leo know that he had heard them. He kept them to himself, treasured them almost as he would a declaration of love, because deep down he knew that was a close as he would ever get to hearing one.

He felt the mattress shift again as Leo stood, and seconds later he heard the sound of coins chinking together then the creaking of floorboards and footsteps growing dimmer as their distance increased.

Jacopo kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut , fighting back the tears, until he could no longer hear the footsteps at all. Only then did he dare open them and let his tears fall.

On the stand beside his bed, lay four gold florins, payment for his affections. Affections he would gladly give for free if only the maestro would just give some small hint that they were returned.

He stared bitterly at the coins. Four gold florins. It wasn't enough. It never would be.

THE END

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**Reviews appreciated**


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